


Leave it to me, brother

by real_fanta_sea



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Feelings, Gen, Memories, Perfume, Post-Ludendorff, Sad, Short One Shot, Tattoos, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24879610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/real_fanta_sea/pseuds/real_fanta_sea
Summary: Just an idea I had: You all know how Trevor brags about Michael not getting a tattoo of his name and Michael never reacts, right?
Relationships: Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	Leave it to me, brother

**Author's Note:**

> I have posted this on 5.9.2019[on my Tumblr](https://real-fanta-sea.tumblr.com/post/187509129831/just-an-idea-i-had-you-all-know-how-trevor-brags) originally, but I figured it would be easier for me to store this shorty here. Enjoy :)

The truth is, Michael actually has one - a tiny, amber coloured letter T, blending partly with the natural tone of delicate skin, neatly hidden behind his ear. No one has ever seen it, but it’s there and that’s what matters. If anyone was to uncover it, Michael would say it’s just an old scar, and he wouldn’t lie - the tattoo was there to patch up an inflamed old wound which was torn open in Ludendorff and has yet been healed. When Michael moved to Los Santos, the tattoo was among the first things he got, and frankly, the only one he was truly proud of. Ever since, when a new day comes with a sun-drenched morning that lulls Michael out of bed, he puts on a suit and sprinkles a few drops of the cologne on his fingers. Eau de Beau no.9 is not the kind of perfume a respectable gentleman he strives to be would wear, nor would a movie producer or a golf club owner he became. When taken in one's nose, the smell would evoque cheap strip clubs, darkened alleys and blood spat on graffiti kind of image. Michael hates it with passion yet he never planned on switching to something with more glamour to its fragrance. A bottle of that sorry excuse of perfume sits on his dresser as firmly as an eben wood comb and a pack of contacts. Every day, Michael allows himself a long gaze into his own stocky reflection in a mirror and gently rubs the substance over his pulse point and the secret tattoo. The very first touch would always force his eyes shut, as he inhales and let glimpses of memories animate inside his head. From the pit of the void inside his heart comes a voice, distant but as clear as if the person stood right behind him. Michael can almost feel the puffs of hot breath wash over his exposed neck every damn time. “When I die, I want my hell to smell like you, Mikey” are the words which force Michael’s mouth to curve into a soft, tired smile. The low, loving purr comes in echoes and disappears into thin air as Michael’s senses slowly adjust to the cheap smell. A whirlwind of memories and long gone emotions crawl back into shadows of his mind with only the perfume to linger. Once open again, Michael’s eyes meet his own gaze in the mirror. “It will smell like that, T. Just leave it to me” He would always think to himself as he leaves his bedroom to live his perfect fucked up life for yet another day. “Leave it to me, brother”.


End file.
